Auspicious Displacement
by ANarrativeCloud
Summary: Jack Vessalius had been described as someone with undeveloped individuality. Water. What if things happened differently? If he found himself earlier than meeting someone who was destined to die, how could everything have played out? AU/AD. OOCness. Gen.
1. One: A Prelude to a Chaotic Symphony

**A/N: I know I'm pretty mean when it comes to writing stories since I'm starting this one without actually finishing the other stories I have. Well, my muse for this story here is pretty much active, so… hmmm**

**Summary:** Jack Vessalius had been described as someone with undeveloped individuality. Water. If he found himself earlier than meeting someone who was destined to die, how could everything have played out? OCs. NOT OC-centric.

**Note:** If anyone's wondering why I'm making this fic when I already pretty much know that Jack is the effing main antagonist, it's because I'm frustrated at the mangaka's dastardliness. Ugh. Jack was— still is— my favourite character. Haha... OCs would be truly unavoidable. I'm sorry.

Also, for every chapter, I'm going ask a question.

**What is June's surname? It's already pretty obvious as far as I'm concerned.

Pairings: Undecided, but It's pretty much inevitable.

Rating: Teen, T

Warnings: Twisted minds, cursing, descriptive gore(toned down), craziness, etc. OCs.

._._._._._._.

Chapter One

The Prelude to a Chaotic Symphony

._._._._._._.

Winter was a _truly_ cruel season. Bright colours dampen to white and blue, lakes where fishes dwell freeze over. The flowers that bloomed so radiantly in the seasons before had withered to gray, the lush green forests turn a dank black and silver. Crops wilt and the harsh cold winds drape over the homeless. People have no choice but to wear such bulky clothes and are forced to ration their limited supply of food.

He didn't know why such a cruel season could be so _beautiful. _

Was he so queer as to see the way the sun shone softly on the cotton-like blankets of water? Or the way the brilliant, artistic snowflakes fall, ever so gracefully? Or see the way that rainbows form without even needing the rain?

He knew he was. And _hated it._

Lady Luck took _lengths_ to avoid him, Jack decided. His mother cared nothing for him except the fact that he looked too much like his supposed father.

_ "You're looking more like your father every day, I'm so happy, Jack." _

Jack didn't care much about it. He wasn't sure about what he wanted. Nor had he ever thought about it. He was someone who was unfortunate enough to be left in the care of a not so sane mother. Mothers gave warmth and acceptance right? Was it too much to ask?

Apparently, it was.

His mother _loathed_ his existence. She had never said it out loud nor had she shown any outright hostility—so far, he doubted it would last— but her glances and wistful sighs were enough to tell him what exactly she thought of him.

_"WHY!? Why doesn't he come for me? I've been waiting for him all this time! He said he loved me!"_

He didn't know if he still loved his mother. She was still the one who birthed and raised him after all. But her uncaring attitude proved otherwise. His father had decided to ignore his existence entirely other than a tiny little emblem that was begrudgingly given to him as a token and affirmation of his relation to a family with power. The Vessalius Family.

_"Filthy child of adultery."_

Jack sighed, a puff of air exiting as a thin wisp of cloud, and exited their quaint little home—no, house, (_such a cold and unwelcoming place cannot be called a home_ his traitorous mind whispered)— quietly, so as to not wake his slumbering (contemptful— _shut up brain!)_ mother and dragged his ragged and torn clothes outside, not the slightest bit insecure. A shirt large enough for someone twice his age was what he was wearing, thin enough that the winter cold was hardly kept away.

His gait was forcibly slouched—just not to have excessively confident steps in such a drab part of Sabrie stand out— having endless self-practice for poise and posture, which was learned merely through sharp eyes and observation, if merely for reducing the amount of energy needed to move. They were poor enough as it is without having to need additional for being so twitchy.

His movements became increasingly fluid as he neared the town proper. Somehow, the hustle and bustle of the place seemed so alien. It was like he was watching through a transparent, one way glass, untouchable, yet still so close... it still looked so_ alive_. He could hear trains whistling by the eastern part of town. People were milled about doing whatever business they had to attend to. Brightly coloured garments, grand carriages, hoarding businessmen, ringing bells, wooden wheels crunching on gravel, the clacking of well bred horses' hooves and the lively blending— a multitude of voices assaulted his senses. Newspaper boys shouted "Extra! Extra!", in a motion of calling. It was a very exhilarating day, in his opinion, having been used to such freezing weather already. He stared at the papers waving in the air and moved to come near the energetic Paper boy, hoping to catch a glimpse of the recent events. He had heard that a tasteless murder had happened again somewhere by the more desolated part of the capital. The ruling classes never divulged information in the newspapers, but sometimes, nosy journalists would do everything in their power to actually snoop around, minding other's businesses and actually find intriguing and surprisingly informative articles. Jack paid close attention to gossip (however, he himself never participated in it) as several key events were usually passed around by word. Information, while scattered and unconfirmed are usually useless, with proper backing and evidences would cost a lot in the information market.

"How much?" Jack asked.

The newspaper boy wrinkled his nose. Disgust and annoyance. The blonde realized.

"4 nickels. Are you able to afford it?" He asked skeptically.

Jack slowly felt for a pouch inside his tattered clothes, there lay a few silver and gold coins, probably enough for a week or two so as not to die in starvation. Deciding against wasting any funds, he shook his head, earning a low mutter, "Stupid street rats...". And walked around, searching for torn and thrown newspapers. He saw several papers, none of them really in a condition that would benefit him. However, since it was still morning, the newspaper buyers were more than likely to not finish their papers outside, actually using the papers as entertainment for the whole day. A few minutes of walking around aimlessly while keeping his eyes open had fortunately yielded results, he hadn'texpected it though, it was more of hoping rather than really expecting someone to leave their papers scattered. Someone had left the day's paper on a bench. Coincidence? Probably not. But who was he to question such things?

Jack didn't know how to read. Oh, he knew the alphabet, (He wasn't _that _undereducated, thank you very much); he merely couldn't join sounds that fast just yet, having little to none practice at it. Newspapers were a good start.

Nothing intellectual had his mother taught him. He was merely a waiting boy, learning to serve tea and put cheap spreading on coarse, tasteless bread. But he was very observant. Perceptive even. It wasn't very hard to learn. With nothing to do the whole day besides sit on a roof— with a fantastic view of the street, silently laughing at people tripping, accidentally torn clothes and the like— in the marketplace, sometimes steal dropped silver and gold coins. (He absolutely refused to become like the kleptomaniac Aron—the street urchin who stole even from his friends.) He learned to see how people interacted, how certain words, flattery, non-verbal actions, all contributed to how the person would act under specific circumstances. For example, a person whose hands sweat a lot are prone to more clumsy movements, eyes darting around the bustling crowds are easier to distract and would jump at vendors calling out their products are easier for the other kids to steal from. Stern old ladies are the people who feels at ease at such a disorderly street and the like. It wasn't that hard to see the patterns, but sometimes there were anomalies where he'd just catalogue it somewhere in his otherwise unused brain.

He took the paper and kept it under his clothes. He shifted purposefully, heading towards a backwater lake that had been frozen in the early winter threshold. The view there was the best of all, it was a little colder than the city—of course it was— but nothing he couldn't handle. He would just create his own way to dispel the frostiness of the air.

The lake wasn't anywhere in Sabrie. It was probably a ten to fifteen minute walk from the last gate to the southeast, just a little east of the Southern District where most of the slums gathered together. Most of the ten minute walk included following a forest path where the trees bended in an awkward backward manner that forms a shape reminiscent of the mouth of a water vase, as if distorted to make way for passers-by, in this case, him.

He started gathering dry wood (which is harder and more time-consuming than it sounds as the winter glade had either drenched the trees or made them home to icicles) and started creating a little bonfire outside the forest, by the frozen lake, for himself, he needed the extra warmth, else he risk suffering hypothermia. He didn't want to die a cold and painful death. It didn't look very fun.

A few strikes of flint and a torn piece of paper later (he made sure it was only an illustration), a little fire started. Stones were aligned in a spiral-like manner, creating a makeshift hearth, and preventing the wood from getting wet by the melting snow around the fire.

He rubbed his hands together and closed his eyes, creating a self-illusion that everything was fine. He blew a warm puff of air towards his freezing hands and smiled sadly. Really, staying at home was lot colder than being able to move around outside. He shifted a bit and noticed that the winter breeze from his east suddenly slowed, wasn't it still the time where the wafting of the winds were strong enough to put out candles…?

"A nice little fire you got there." A voice beside him chirped.

Jack jumped, startled. "Who are you!?" He screamed, making himself lose balance. Why hadn't he noticed anyone coming? He should have! How s/he had said it was disarming, but it served to make him even more suspicious. What was her aim?

"I saw the smoke from the forest. And cause It was cold, and you seemed comfortable."

The voice apparently belonged to someone female around his age. She had two thin locks of black hair framing her face, reaching just past her shoulders and a low ribbon-tied ponytail that diverged into three separate curls and a black trimmed burnt orange overcoat that seemed very warm. Her hands were covered in gloves too big for her. He wondered why she was here. The blonde knew most of the people around Sabrie by face, and the less than fortunate more so than the well-off families, but she was unfamiliar. Was she some sort of sheltered child? Unlikely. Black hair and pale orange eyes were a combination he hadn't seen in the streets before, though. She wasn't from the West district, surely. North was out, since the only people who could live at the North of the capital had to be in the good graces of the ruling family. Judging by the way the light reflects, her coat was of higher quality than Third class, but not really...

"So why are you here by the lake? This part isn't even inside Sabrie's perimeters." She asked with an eyebrow raised. "You went past a forest trail right? That's pretty dangerous." She chided. Jack gave her a questioning look, he had no intention of answering. And what did she mean by dangerous? That forest path wasn't home to any vicious animals by any stretch of the imagination.

"I'm just curious." She said, standing up, patting pelted orange to remove the snow.

Jack remained silent. He didn't need to answer her. She was just bothering him, he did come here to think after all.

She frowned, "Well, that's not very polite." the orange-eyed chided, leaning over by the edge of the bank and experimentally tapping the frozen lake.

"I'm a street rat. I have no manners." Jack retorted.

"Oh? Then what is that on your wrist?" She asked skeptically, standing warily on the makeshift ice rink. "Those things aren't given away to the homeless for no reason."

Jack hid it instinctively, more of habit than anything else actually. He gets a little defensive when it's brought up. It was the cause of most of his pain. "It's… a keepsake from my mother… My mother… she said that I was a son of someone from the Vessalius Family…"

"You're…? I see."

"My mother is still waiting for him… I don't understand why… He'd clearly abandoned us already."

"Do… you hate your father?" She asked.

"…I would be a saint not to."

"You hate him, huh? A noble?" She stared at him dispassionately, as if the owner of those eyes would kill him if he dared admit his hatred. Was she someone sent to get rid of him? Was she one of of those assassins sent after people who wished to claim a noble's name and influence?

"Why are you looking at me like I want to eat you? I don't think such a skinny person would look delicious. You lack—ah— _flesh._" She said with an aura of deceptive hunger. "If I wanted you dead, you would have already been dead, with the body in_ pieces_, blood dripping from _every single_ limb I would have _torn apart._ Innards bursting out from an open _cut_—"

"Stop!" Jack cut her off, his skin was drastically pale, his mind still conjuring such vivid images of his very gruesome death. Impaled—_stop it! I'm gonna have nightmares later…!_ "You aren't really going to do that are you? Just because I'm a nobleman's bastard son… right?"

She guffawed. Taking a few moments to regain herself. Jack took offence at her humor at his predicament.

"I'm just kidding! I don't really_ care_ about nobility. They're stuck-up, annoying, greedy, full of themselves, arrogant, good-for-nothing and truly egotistical. I don't hold a grudge against noblemen in general. Just some people in their ranks who piss me off." She frowned, stomped and stepped back to the bank. Then the place where she stomped shattered. Jack flinched at the collapsing sound. The orange-clad girl glanced at the cracking lake victoriously as if she had done something to be prideful of.

"If the nobles would get rich through merit rather than lineage..." She muttered. The cracking of thin ice seemed to accentuate her annoyance and distaste, Jack noted absently, still scary.

Jack agreed with her statement though. Most of the people who had climbed through the ranks were usually the most humble. And although the nobility system had its advantages to the country's stability, it would never be truly demolished. He thought that if democracy was to be granted, those vile creatures of the night would probably devour them all. And merit had already been the basis before the dukedoms had been created, and that merely resulted to the creation of kingdoms again, then cycle repeat. If unhindered, it would possibly result to an absolute monarchy, which is… worse by most standards.

"I think even a merit system would still breed corruption." Jack said quietly, his voice hardly carrying.

"I know that." She let out an unladylike snort. "It's just a stupid theory. Where'd you learn this, anyway? Politics is not something you can learn from the streets." She inquired.

"The pubs, train stations. High enough people have loose lips around alcohol. I've never studied it though." He answered thoughtfully. Spending your entire childhood in the streets itching to learn anything and everything available and dozens upon dozens of loose mouths would help you grow plenty.

"How about books then? I can bring you some. Not much though. "

Jack flushed. "I-I can't."

"Read?" At his nod, she continued "Then I'll teach you!" She said eagerly, spinning about her booted feet.

Snow fell, and Jack didn't know why, but the snow seemed... more captivating. More radiant than what he had observed before. He had already put falling snowflakes in a high regard, but... this certain scene had its own allure. He wasn't sure what it is, but it was just…

"Beautiful, right?" Jack started a little, a little embarrassed to be caught staring.

"Uh, yeah..." he replied dumbly, scratching his cheek.

"Hmm..." She looked around, "Which reminds me, it's nearly noon now...Would you like some lunch?"

As if being reminded, his stomach grumbled. Not the first for the day, actually, seeing as he had eaten only a piece of coarse bread and three cups of water which was his breakfast, as usual.

"I don't eat lunch." he responded flatly, earning a disapproving glance. Why was she even concerned about someone she had just met? He hardly knew her.

"That's not good for you health! Let's go eat something, I have to do something about that skinny figure of yours!" She smiled brightly

Without even letting the blonde answer, she pulled him up. And killing the fire with a well aimed kick at the snow on the ground, pelting the firewood (making Jack pout slightly - _that was hard to start!_) she frowned thoughtfully...

"What would you prefer? Sandwiches or pasta? We can't enter any establishments with such clothing... Sandwiches are a lot more convenient... Sandwiches it is then!" She motioned to grab his hand, but Jack stepped backward, eyeing her with unmasked confusion.

"Why do you even care?" He asked quietly, maybe even a little desperately. "You've only met me today. I doubt we know each other. We don't even know each other's names. Your concern is... "

"Well, this lake..." She started, cutting him off, "is very important to me and my... late mother. Anyone drawn in to this lake, is..." She smiled sadly. The wistful tone caught Jack off-guard, even in the streets, people this open were very few. Why was she telling him such a personal thing? Why? And that trailing words... What was it she wanted to say? But he held his tongue. He already knew too much of someone whom he met mere minutes ago.

"And well, I planned on doing one good deed a day, and I was supposed to help the person I first see after visiting my mom's grave." She motioned to a bit west where Jack could make out a small building out of pebbles. The altar probably.

One good deed a day? He felt something constrict in his chest. It was only for today, of course, how silly was he to think that someone would just reach out a hand to a stranger? "You don't really have to trust me. I mean, well...what would I gain from trying to not help you? Ah! Name! My name is Axadia Dawnweller—how rude of me, not even introducing myself. But just Dia, please. People only call me Axadia when they're angry or when they're my dad. Yours?"

"Jack... Just Jack." He introduced himself quietly. She was a little too talkative, wasn't she? She wasn't like June and Felice—his only other female acquaintances. They seemed to pale in comparison with her hawkish and spontaneous attitude. She was so... unique. He could tell even if he had only known her for a while. June had a charm of her own, though, being a third daughter of a foreign Duke, they were in the same position, only so that June actually goes to school. (How ironic, that someone with supposed lesser opportunities is actually given some advantages.) Many bachelors would clamor over her (turned fifteen this fall), but she usually dismissed them bluntly and coldly when they were too dull for her, he had unluckily landed on the 'interesting' category and usually met with him every now and then (around a one or two week gap). He never really understood her. She treated him like she would a useless and troublesome little brother,(it annoyed him as he was months older than her). June was an established gossip, always up to date with the relationships of noblemen and women and knew way too much for his liking. Felice, on the other hand, was buried in debts, her father and mother being merely a cook and handmaid respectively. But she refused to wear a dress twice. The only redeeming quality about her was her silver tongue and her ability to make people believe she was who she said she was. June had refused to help her financially, with the possibility of both of them going bankrupt. "Unfashionable" she says... He thought it was irresponsibly wasteful.

"Nice too meet you too, Jack Vessalius." She said cheekily. Jack stared. "Oh, don't look at me like that. That crest does belong to the Vessalius family, right? It's only fair after all, I gave you _my _whole name." Well, it did seem fair... but... He sighed.

Dia... She was certainly different. Most girls her age—or as he could conclude from his acquaintances and mouthy housewives— were engrossed in impressing the younger noblemen and sharing gossip. He really wondered why preteens like them would think about marriage so early in their lives, when they can't even make a decision of whether or not to eat something that has of questionable properties. Girls were more focused on prettifying themselves than even try to contribute to society.

"So, are we going to go get that sandwich or not, Jack?" She had said his name without any disdain or mockery, and it felt... nice. Only a few people had ever looked at him like he wasn't trash. June, Aron(that sleazebag snatcher is surprisingly respectful) and now, Dia. The sound of his name in that melodious voice had kept his good spirits and actually found himself looking forward to being led around the town. (He had wondered if she actually knew the places they were going, but it seemed that she did not as they would havr gotten stuck in dead ends a few times, had he not told her beforehand.)

After the midday snack (Jack had never tasted something so delicious), Dia decided that he needed to dress appropriately for the weather, but he had no such money for a new piece of cloth, but she had protested. Standing in the side of a clothing store, they talked.

"I can't afford such ridiculous prices!" Jack explained, his awe and disbelief at the sheer amount of money that was needed to buy a single overcoat.

"I brought enough money to buy a whole set of clothes, though." She replied off handedly, steering him clear from the bustling crowds so as to not catch attention. His appearance was worse than a mouse's, and he had never been called anything that might resemble a compliment.

"But you aren't going to meet me again after this day ends, why waste money on me? I'm—"

"Who says we're not?" She cut him off. "This isn't just a one-day thing, you idiot." She huffed in annoyance.

"It isn't...?" Jack replied, perplexed. Wasn't he just some pet for the day to her?

"Of course it's not! You're actually pretty fun to hang around with when you're not second guessing yourself. I'm not that rich to do this on a mere whim. Viscount Vessalius has more money than all of our assets combined." Dia said exasperatedly, her eyes darting over the crowds, as if she was looking for someone.

"If you're not that rich then why do you insist in giving me proper clothing?" Of all the reactions Jack was sure she would have, he did not expect the tinting of her cheeks and her darting eyes stopped and found the wall increasingly attractive.

"W-well..." The sable haired girl stammered. And froze as if she slapped herself. What was wrong with her? He was pretty sure he didn't say anything that could have offended her... "I wouldn't want to avoid crowds. It's a hassle. You might just get picked on." She said with finality as if she just decided it for herself. Jack decided he would never get girls.

"Well, that... makes sense." He complied reluctantly. "But I still won't allow you to spend for me. It might be an insignificant amount for you, but I still have my pride. Poor or not."

"Then, I'm bringing you clothes tomorrow! I won't have to spend anything for it! A lost set of clothes won't even be noticed." She insisted. How stubborn.

"That isn't any better." He returned lightly, this time with a small smile. "You've already— Why are you staring at me like that?"

Dia stared.

Jack blinked, suddenly self conscious. He started to squirm under the scrutinizing—or at least he thought so— gaze, and felt his flush—due to the biting cold— brighten.

"You have a _very_ pretty smile." She said reluctantly. He turned even redder, if that was even possible. Then indignantly putting her hands to her hips, "But your bearings don't even bring out the _slightest_ of your features! You are _good looking_, okay? _That's_ the reason! There! _I said _it!" She declared, making wild gestures, her face red with effort. "I_ refuse_ to let such _fairness_ go to waste!"

Jack was dumbfounded. Wasn't he… ugly? His mom had never called him handsome or fair, just that he resembled the person she had loved. His view for his father was tainted, so he imagined him to be very ugly. Never fair or beautiful.

"You don't believe me? Are you telling me that my sense of beauty is off? Why—"

"N-no..." He responded weakly, temporarily pacifying the irate female. "I'm just surprised... No one's ever called me beautiful before..." He trailed off.

"Truly?" He nodded. "Then they're either idiots or blind." Jack laughed nervously at her menacing tone.

Jack noticed that Dia fell thoughtful, but he couldn't blame her. Even he was drifting in his own thoughts. This was by far the best day he could wish for. He had learned so many new things, and for once actually talked to someone who didn't really look at him with a glare or something else.

But he was digressing.

"Hey, Jack?" She asked thoughtfully, shadows casting over her eyes.

"What?" The blonde prompted, curious.

"Are you _really _sure you don't want new clothes?"

He sighed exasperatedly.

"Yes." Jack said with finality. "I'm sure."

.

.

The day went by a little too fast in Jack's opinion. He couldn't even remember how many times he had laughed during the day and more so the last time he had even smiled out of mirth.

He glanced around, noting that several other people were waiting for the train to come. Sabrie's Train Station was magnificent, luxuriously decorated and furnished, with carved wood as decorations, the lighting was also bright and homey. There were also ticket booths one of which Dia was waiting in line to purchase a ticket.

"I need to leave in the next train. The one after that's pretty late in the night already." She said absently, reading the ticket.

"You don't live in Sabrie, right?" Of course she didn't. Why else would she have purchased a ticket out?

"No. I don't." Dia smiled briefly. "My residence is by the next stop west, L'Renouille."

"...I won't be able to visit you then." the blonde concluded. "I doubt Marquis Dawnweller would appreciate someone with indecent clothes barging in his household without so much as a notice." Jack said lightly, the glint in his eyes showed knowing. Jack remembered how he knew of the name Dawnweller before. It was one of the families that June had rattled off at the top of her head when she had deemed him too clueless of the workings of the noble world—she was actually just showing off, and Jack never saw fit to tell her off since she had been too frustrated at the world at that time. She had told him which families to please and which families to avoid. The Dawnwellers were one of the latter.

Dia's lips curved into a smile. "How astute of you. I never knew you were this well-informed."

Jack just shrugged, not letting it bother him.

"And you're right. Daddy dearest would throw a fit when you do." the ravenette said sickeningly sweetly. "Although, my elder siblings would probably take it as a queue to annoy our father..."

"You lied when you said that my biological father was richer than you, correct? You are a Marquis' daughter. Only a step away from Dukedom."

"Yes, it was a lie. Everything else I said? They're true… to an extent."

"Oh… Are you going to Sabrie tomorrow?" Jack asked.

"That depends." Jack's eyes turned disappointedly downcast. "I'll try my best, though."

The trains whistled, signaling the need to leave."See you soon! I'll definitely come visit again!"

.

.

Jack stood by the front door of his house, praying to whatever deity exists that his mother was asleep, but it was still early into the night... perhaps he should stay out for a while. That was definitely what Dia would have told him. But the sound of the door opening gave him little choice. An image of his irate mother appeared in place of the door.

"_Where_ have you been the whole day, Jack!?" His mother screeched. "_Why_ weren't you here this morning!?"

Jack remained silent, preferring not to waste effort in trying to placate someone who had lost any semblance of reason. He didn't know why, but for some reason, he absolutely loathed everything right now. Was it his mother that inspired such thoughts? He didn't know. Was it his situation that made him think like this? He didn't know either.

Jack was dragged by his ear to his room, enunciating words of hurt. His mother screamed obscenities at him, hurtful words resounding in his ringing ears.

"You _useless _child!" It… _hurt._

His good day just took a turn for the worst.

.

.

.

.

"She... was a good woman." June said quietly, fiddling with a dark pink rose in her hand.

The funeral happened around eleven in the morning. Everyone had a flower. His was a Snowdrop. "I liked your mom before... that happened."

_Good?_ He snorted silently. _Hardly._ He didn't need her misplaced pity. He knew—of _course_ he did— this day would come. He didn't know if he was sad or thankful, angry or hopeless. He didn't know. He just felt numb but neither felt tears threatening to spill nor sobs trying to escape. Nothing. Jack knew himself that what his mother did amounted to suicide. Death by depression. What an unfitting was for the death of someone who desired nothing but love. But was it really just love she wanted? He didn't know. He had endlessly tried to be there for his mother, but she refused to accept it, only reaching out for his dastardly father. Once she had even mistook him from his father that he has never even seen the face of before.

Jack was dressed up nicely (Dia would probably laugh at him, actually relenting to wear something properly). In a smart and casual but borderline formal checkered shorts and a black dress shirt under dark gray suit with a black tie. June had spent too much money on this for his liking. Said teen –who was beside him— had her dark red hair up in a sophisticated bun with a braid around it and wore a modestly designed mourning dress, the only possible praising for it was that it highly accented her features as a young lady. Felice who had her blue-tinted hair in an extravagant flowing manner had worn a black sequined dress that was slit halfway through her thigh, creating an effect similar to a raging waterfall, the ruffles were everywhere and it hurt his eyes to even look.

The funeral was small, as his mother's relatives were either dead or in another country. There were people situated around a previously dug hole and a wooden casket just a few feet off. The only people there were their neighbors, Felice, June, Aron and a Baskerville—he never knew why a member of that family had to be the one that did the funerary ceremony. June had once said that the Baskervilles were powerful, not just in their wide sphere of influence but their supposed connection to the 'abyss' (The heaven or hell that they believe exists. It was just something fictional to scare off the kids from disobeying their parents, Jack was pretty sure) that prayed for the safety of the soul in the hundred year cycle. But... maybe it wasn't as baseless as he had first thought. There was something off about that Baskerville that set him apart from the crowd. Maybe it was because of his connection to such a powerful family but that was unlikely... was he...

"June?" He asked the dark red haired girl quietly, while the Baskerville was chanting some sort of prayer in another language.

June looked at him with her, prompting him to continue.

"What's his status?" She raised her eyebrow but answered in an equally silent tone.

"He's a servant." She said nonchalantly. "Hardly notable. Why the sudden interest?" _and why now?_ Had hung over the air. But June knew when not to pry.

"Nothing..."

An eyebrow shot up."Oh? Anything related to the cycle of death and rebirth by any_ chance_?"

Jack stiffened. He wasn't really supposed to be surprised. June could probably ask a rock where and what era it came from by just staring at it. Damn her perceptiveness. He just nodded mutely.

"We'll talk later. You can't go around not knowing information as vital as this."

He nodded, watching the Baskerville finish his 'prayer'. Unnamed men lifted up the casket onto the lowering platform then rotating the lever that lowered the casket.

A few seconds of silence reigned over the area, only the silent howling of the wind had been heard. Jack found it fitting. There were no excessively dramatic cries for their endless grief nor pleas for return of the dead. A silent funeral for silent sorrow. Maybe... if his mother had stopped waiting, hoping, this wouldn't have happened. Therr were too many maybes... Maybe if his father had taken them in officially? Maybe if he tried harder to please his mother? Maybe if she was stronger willed? But it was useless. He knew that he could never turn time back.

"I've never seen you cry before..." June tried to sound unconcerned, but failed.

"Cry...?" Jack had tried to find his voice, and when he did, it sounded like a croak.

He found tears running down his face... He was crying? Why was he crying? Why waste tears upon her death? Why? He... felt a strange emptiness in his chest when his mother just hadn't woken up that morning a week ago. Why?

"Just let the tears fall." He heard June's voice try to comfort him.

He didn't know, but he found it... relieving. His tears just streamed down and his chest clenched. Maybe... he wasn't as numb as people around him said. Maybe... he did care after all.

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A few hours after the funeral, Jack had gone back to his house with June following him. His perception of time was somehow warped with his raging emotions of grief and disappointment that he hadn't even noticed that he had already been sitting in their dining table.

"Are... you okay?" June asked. He didn't know why, but never had June called him by his name. It was always 'blondie', you or she would find a way to phrase her sentences without needing to say his name...

"I'm..." He couldn't say he was fine. Because in all honesty, he _wasn't_. He just needed to think for a while. "...going to be okay." But hadn't he already sorted this out enough when his mother started losing her mind. He had to face the reality that what she did to herself was irreversible; it was just the final nail in the coffin(no pun intended) that she had passed away a mere two weeks after that happened. She couldn't even feed herself by that time and nothing more than a breathing vegetable.

June sighed. "I have the whole day to myself. I would stay if you wanted... You just lost someone after all." A few minutes if silence had Jack sorting out this mess in his head, his brain had already caught up with the fact that he had already accepted the permanent loss of his mother. What he felt was just his feeling of the past.

"I've already grieved twice June. That's more than enough." Jack said with renewed determination.

June blinked at him. That... was fast. Could that had been her, she would have curled up in her bed and cried until no more tears would have been left.

"That's good then. Take a little nap." She ordered. "Then we'll talk about that information of the Baskervilles I recently acquired."

"Can't we talk now?" Jack said impatiently.

"You look like death trampled all over you. Rest for a bit." She said annoyedly.

Jack rolled his eyes and entered his room, leaving an exasperated June on his dining table.

When his head hit his pillow, he had succumbed to sleep almost immediately.

At least he had his rest.

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"Where should I start?" June asked.

"How about the Baskervilles first?" Jack said after a moment of thought.

"Okay then." She coughed into her hand and drew out a notebook from her balloon skirt. All her clothes had at least a single hardbound journal that pretty much summarized every piece of information she hadn't already memorized by heart. "You already know that the Baskervilles are connected to the abyss correct?"

"Wasn't that just a myth?" Jack inquired.

"All myths have something they originated from." She scoffed. "The abyss undoubtedly, presently exists. A lot of present evidence proves its existence." She stated bluntly, taking Jack by surprise. It... really _exists?_

"And by a lot, I mean a lot. Have you heard of the term 'chains'?" He looked at her blankly. "No? Tch. These chains I'm talking about aren't those prison shackles that bind convicts or criminals. Chains— in brief— are dark beings that seek stability. Do you remember that you used to call the mysterious deaths and disappearances around Sabrie 'vile creatures of the night'? _Those_ are chains."

"Wait, wait. How do you even know this? Isn't this—" Jack frowned.

"I have sources. _Reliable_ sources. And _don't_ interrupt me when I'm talking." She snapped. Jack flinched.

"S-sorry..." He said meekly.

"Good. Well then the chain's existence is unstable as I've told you. The only way to achieve stability is to have a contractor."

"A contractor? Why would they even agree to a contract like that?"

"That's because the abyss isn't just the 'heaven' or 'hell'. It's where every distortion starts and goes to. The abyss is like different dimension that is closely tied with ours. The time there is warped. Meaning a second there might mean years—even centuries—here, rewind may even be possible. The abyss is a place filled with light, purity but also distortion, twistedness and endless darkness. And there has been rumours that when you meet with the person or thing that governs the abyss, they will grant you a wish. That person or thing resides in the deepest and most twisted core of the abyss."

"A wish?" He asked hopefully.

"Yes. However, don't even think about looking for a chain for this wish." She warned dangerously. "There are none who succeeded in that hopeless venture. Did you think that there aren't risks? The person who makes a contract would be tattooed with a clock. Once that clock hand makes a full revolution, the contractor would be sent to the abyss's core. Either you're going to be dissolved slowly until you lose your sense of self and disappear or become equally mindless and become distorted enough to become a chain."

Jack gulped. That... didn't sound like a good choice of death.

"I'm only telling you this because even if you're still pretty much useless, I wouldn't want you dead or chain-ified." June said bitingly.

Jack couldn't help but let his mouth quirk up. That was a pretty roundabout of saying she was concerned.

"Why are you grinning like that?"

"Nothing." He said smoothly, copying Felice's neutrally pleasant tone.

June opened her mouth to retort nastily but decided against it and instead. "I'll forgive you this time, but if you try to pull a Felice on me again, you'll definitely regret it, blondie."

Jack just chuckled.

June scoffed.

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June left a little late into the afternoon, leaving Jack alone in his house that now seemed too spacious... Jack sighed. He had been used to such long stretching silence that he didn't quite care even if he had no one to talk to at all; but it seemed June's snappy retorts and scathing remarks made him miss such undivided attention. When they were talking, June never seemed to hold back on her harsh words— she was like that by nature and he had long been used to it. And their small talks were truly uplifting to his spirits; regardless of what tragedy just happened.

He sighed again, looking at a small pouch of coins that would probably finalize the pay for this house and probably keep him fed for a week and a few more days without lunch. Maybe if he sold them the deed to this place..? But that would be stupid. They had just finished the installment and lands couldn't just be sold that stupidly, even if it was just around a hundred or two square meters. His mother had had several jewelries as gifts from his biological father. Those were a lot more valuable than selling a rundown shack in the slums... probably. He was never good at comparing them. His clothes wouldn't do him any good if he ran around wearing those clothes. He wouldn't even last a day without getting robbed. How did Dia run around wearing _cashmere_— yes, _cashmere_ now he figured out what it was, Felice's rants about her clothes were strangely informative— coat around the slums? That was too excessive. She should have stood out in the dull colored district. Why didn't she? Wait. Dia! Dia had sent a letter of reply for the letter he sent. June had snapped at him for actually disregarding the list she gave him, but when he told him that Dia hadn't forced Jack to do anything, she looked at him in an annoyed manner but relented as Jack had always been a good judge of character.

June told him that when he had frowned at and was wary around a man—who seemed friendly enough— that had guided them in arranging a small funeral; the redhead had later discovered—just in time too— that it was just a con artist that was tricking them into paying him.

The winter glades were already abating, but there were bound to be several snowfalls in the last week of December. Dia's letter had arrived after June had left, in the hands of an annoyed servant wearing a silver-orange overcoat.

"You're wasting the young lady's time, you dirty garbage."

He was probably jealous, but... even if he knew that... he felt as if... he was dragging everyone down with his being too dependent on everyone around him. Maybe... he should try and rise up in society. Even if he was going to the metaphorical den of lions and wolves. He outright refused to be useless.

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_This was written around the span of a week or two… so it's pretty crappy. I've no idea where this story is heading._

_Leave a review? They make me guilty enough to actually not let my readers down. :))_


	2. Two: A Circumstantial Rhapsody

**Summary: **Jack Vessalius had been described as someone with undeveloped individuality. Water. If he found himself earlier than meeting someone who was destined to die, how could everything have played out? OCs. NOT OC-centric.

**Author's notes:** To prevent confusion, I'm calling Revis, Levy, Levi, etc. 'Revis' And Oswald as Oswald unless being addressed by someone who either doesn't know or he being referred to since the title 'Glen' is being passed around. In this chapter (and the succeeding unless I specify such), Glen is Revis.

Also, I'm going to be basing the 'time according to the sky' to the countries near the equator if you get what I mean. Dawn is approximately 6:30 am. Dusk is around 7 pm.

**Pairings:** Undecided, but It's pretty much inevitable. No OC pairings unless people really want them.

**Rating:** Teen, T

Warnings: Twisted minds, cursing, descriptive gore (toned down), craziness, etc. OCs.

._._._._._._.

Chapter Two

A Circumstantial Rhapsody

._._._._._._.

There was something _off _about today that Jack couldn't place his finger on. It wasn't June nor Aron, nor Felice since he usually only felt apprehensive and candidly defeated when they were going to visit. It was... different. Ominous but somehow... appealing. Something... _important._ But that was merely one of the concerns that flooded his mind.

The spring threshold was just about to begin when he had finally decided that he wasn't going to sell the old shack that sheltered him from the harsh weather. He had decided that he would sell it since he had more or less decided to abandon it later in life and it wouldn't hurt to have extra cash available when he would possibly be in dire need of it. Maybe when the land's temperature rose to later which would be safe for makeshift outdoor beds, he would. That wasn't too far off, and it could wait, since most of the spring's climate was still cold enough to keep an apple fresh despite time.

He had somehow felt… lighter after his tears had fell and dried. A burden on his shoulders was lifted and he didn't know how much depression his mother had caused until it was gone. No one comforted him in his early stages of grief. June had tried but when she had he had already done all the emotional releases he could have done. A small tinge of depression made its way into his chest, being dimly reminded of his mother but was squished by the thought that he had friends now. Parental love can't ever be replaced he knew, but this thought was... plenty more heartwarming than his mother's near unhinged smiles and wails of displeasure. Jack knew better than to keep everything bottled up, but he thought that being a little too cheerful was tiring so he would only express his delight with short smiles and chuckles. Aron had said that before meeting the troublemaking little tykes of the Southern District, his eyes were like a fish's. Dead. Lifeless. Dull. Their energetic demeanor and warm exchanges changed him. He learned how to smile. Hansel was the eldest of that group, being the self proclaimed leader—but was still acknowledged by the rest. They called themselves 'Southern Sabrie Warriors' which was quite… ironic, considering that their favorite past times were leading people in circles and subtle pranks to the non natives of the South and less than acceptable methods of gaining money. He really didn't like dealing with them now. Sure, he liked their company before, but they had asked him to be their leader but he had declined them point blank. He refused to shoulder the responsibility of feeding, leading and teaching more than two dozen children younger than even he was.

_"Would you like to be our new leader, Jack?"_

Sighing for the nth time this day, he silently calculated for his remaining money. June had generously handed him a bag of gold and silver and refused to be refused. Jack just didn't want her to bestow her wrath upon him. It was certainly better than being someone who had to steal to live, but he still had his pride. He soundlessly stepped into the crowded streets and started counting his paces. Hopefully cross the crowded market street without any misfortune. He was usually knocked down whenever he even attempted to go through all the people that knew how to move in sync with the crowd. He'd never really learned how to as he preferred to slip through alleyways instead of the congested main roads that crossing would most likely make him broke with all the sneaky little thieves running around this time of day. He'd always gotten bumped into and ended up bruised in random body parts when he did and he hoped that when he hit his growth spurt, he would actually grow taller and these wouldn't happen anymore. Thankfully, he managed to weave through the busybodies that chanced the main avenue with little to no trouble, not even tripping once— which in and of itself should've given him a clue that something was wrong. He had been somewhat in an emotional rollercoaster this past weeks and he needed the breather, just letting go and forgetting about all the problems.

He went to a somewhat dimly lighted pub that served him good food with a warm smile. It was one of the more friendly places in this district—Southern District was very poor after all— and it was situated in a very accessible place, just by the south path of the Town Square. Only very few even know how to navigate these streets without getting lost but he definitely could (he got a little rusty this past week, but nothing a quick rounds couldn't resolve). Aron knew it like the back of his hand, running around in circles until he knew where best to move during his periodical 'heists'. June still managed to get lost a lot— it infuriated her to _no_ end that the thief Aron did something better than her. They had something of a competition between the both of them in which who could outdo who in the smallest span of time and June almost always won, but when she lost—even with the _smallest_ of margins— Aron would parade it around like it was something that big (which to him apparently it was).

"Sorry Jack, we aren't earning enough to keep up with our expenses, so I can only give you a few today." The owner sent him an apologetic glance.

After receiving a fresh piece of bread and warm soup, Jack had thanked the diner's owner with a smile and was sent off with a merry wave. (He had silently slipped six nickels into the owner's pocket. He had money, so why not be grateful? The owner rejected any kind of payment so he had to sneak it in.)

"Make sure you come back, little one! I make it a point to keep you fed!"

"Yes, sir. Owner, sir!" Jack gave a small grin and a lousy salute with his left hand in order not to spill the soup.

"Now, shoo. Your fans are waiting for you!" The owner said shamelessly. Jack laughed, _fans?_ and continued on.

"Yes, yes. Whatever you say, Owner."

He left the diner with a small spring to his step. The owner definitely knew how to make him laugh. He had met this pub's owner when Dia came— around a week or two ago— to visit; and being a naturally compassionate old man, he had taken an immediate liking to the Southerner that Jack was and opted to often feed him not-so-free meals. Dia had made small talk with the owner, easily charming her way through with a smile and pretty words. Jack had just watched in amusement as Dia did what he usually pulled on June. He had no idea why, but people folded like wet paper whenever he even gave them the smallest of smiles. He reminded himself not to smile too much as it would probably lose its effect. Looking at him like he had grown another head? It was very amusing to see them actually. Do smiles lose their effect though? He didn't know.

The blonde's next destination was the Town Square, hoping to catch up on his people-watching. It was a routine that he rarely broke, having little else to do. The town square wasn't as crowded as the main avenue, but there was still a considerable stuffiness that permeated the air; but it was truly ardent and lively. It was floored with cement, where rust red bricks were sunk under was in between. The Square was large, around the size of ten or so of his—yes, his, not his mother's— house. There was a platform by the far back's center that was elevated until it roughly reached around his nose's tip and had wooden block stairs on opposing sides. The city wide announcements were usually heralded here and when that happened the square was more than just a little crowded—it became stifling and hard to breathe with all the people cramming towards the stage. Jack usually avoided those events, as word of mouth was usually enough to keep him updated.

Speaking of news, those 'chains' had been causing great discomfort to the populace as of lately. Heck, even he was scared of what might happen. Aaron had already been warned and the thief had stopped his nightly escapades. At least until the Baskervilles decided to do something about it. There had been several disfigured and bloody bodies found around town and they said that they looked like they were eaten.

He sat on a ground beside a bench that was around several yards from the stage. Most people found it distasteful that the lower classes that were messily and clumsily dressed sit on the benches that were maintained by workers who were paid by the city's ruling family; it was an unspoken rule that the commoners that were 'dirty' weren't allowed to freely do anything in the square, sitting on the chairs was a no-no.

His curious eyes swept over the carefree scene that unfolded in front of him. There were little kids footling around the square, several housewives and mages were chatting with attempted articulation—amusingly failing to do such a simple task— several people were just milling about purposely, heading towards fixed directions, their eyes focused on whatever they were presently doing. There were several brightly cloaked people, but the most noticeable was a white haired red clad man— who was in turn surrounded by a bunch of other red cloaked men. There was something about him that screamed danger though he certainly seemed friendly enough. He was chatting rather noisily if the reactions from his companions were to be based upon. The smile he was wearing suggested that he was amused and carefree, sending everyone furtive glances—maybe it was just him, but he couldn't jump to any conclusions— but there was something odd about it... like he was expecting... something.

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Being Revis's servant was... tiring for a lack of a better word. He was impulsive, annoyingly so. Revis liked to portray himself as carefree and idiotic and it was grating on Oswald's nerves. He wouldn't even try to act like the dignified clan head he was. He fooled around and still managed to retain everyone's respect, how he pulled that off, Oswald didn't know. He knew that he was going to become the next Glen, Revis-sama had said it himself, since the Raven had already been transferred a few months ago and outright refused to be like him. (The next ceremony was around a few more months, and it made him nervous.) Revis's whims were a bother to fulfill and he was hard to satisfy, making Oswald's job harder.

This morning was no exception. Revis-sama had asked him to make a tea with honey, lemons, roses, ginger and cinnamon in a perfect blend suitable to his tastes—not even telling him his preferences and he found it incessantly troublesome, as Revis's tastes changed every so often.

The noirette had been normally attending to his duties when Revis had up and left, leaving him to his own devices. The white haired man usually only did that when he was going to Lacie's tower, fortunately or unfortunately, he didn't know. She was, after all, a secret that not even he was supposed to know the usual whereabouts of— not that it stopped him from visiting every now and then. Lacie was his beloved little sister and he couldn't help but be slightly resentful of the fact that she was a child of misfortune. He knew that it was the reason why Lacie was kept hidden, but he couldn't help but feel that she didn't deserve the isolation. He was certainly at fault for her suffering, being the next Glen, he had been bound to make some distortions around him. Oswald had always blamed himself for Lacie's situation but she refused to be pitied and he found out endearing. It was unfair, an existence such as hers.

"Little Oswald?" He heard Revis's voice chirp in question.

"I'm already old enough to not be called small, Glen-sama." Oswald said, dully noting that he had been snuck up upon again.

"Whatever you say my cute little servant." Revis said with a playful wink, knowing that Oswald meant it.

"Lacie?" Oswald prompted.

"Ah... that's a problem. It seems she has run again." He said exasperatedly. "That's the third time this month! What happened this time?"

The purple eyed teen sighed.

It had been quite a quiet morning when Lacie had barged into his quarters and snuggled beside him. He had still been somewhat groggy and had snapped just her as he had lacked sleep due to an errand that Revis had asked him to do, said some scathing words that made Lacie a bit hurt— nothing that would make any irreparable damage though. That he was sure of. Oswald could apologize, and yes, Lacie usually accepted his apologies since she usually sulked for a while, came to terms with the problem and waited for him to feel guilty enough to apologize (she was very devious). It worked every single time (much to his chagrin) but he couldn't bring himself to actually ignore her—she was his precious sibling after all. Also, this wasn't the first time that it happened, because when he became a little too insulting and/or offending, Lacie would usually escape her tower—which he still hadn't found— and hide from the immediate area. The next escape after the last was always farther outside; the last time she had run, she had already escaped to the Eastern district. And knowing her, she probably would go to the Southern District this time. The Southern District, according to the Baskerville patrols there was like a labyrinth— only reports since he'd never been there before. The streets were never apparent and navigating it was a nightmare, unless you happened to be Lacie of course. She was like a well oiled machine when it came to finding where to go and how to go home and no one can fault her for that. Just the running away part.

"I had been... thoughtless with my choice of words this morning. I hardly remember what I even said as I was half asleep."

"Ah-ah. What an _irresponsible_ elder brother!" Revis said in fake distress. "Are we going to scour the village for her? After all, the elders are going to throw a _fit_ when they find out we lost the 'child of misfortune' again, whether I'm Glen nor not."

"Scour is too mild a word." Oswald said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Lacie has already hid in the Northern, Eastern and Western Districts. There is only one left that she would hide in—unless she decides to repeat, which in and of itself is highly unlikely."

Then the implications hit Revis. "Oh dear."

"Yes." The black haired teen deadpanned.

"We _could_ always ask the natives..." Revis said weakly. Oswald looked at him like he grew another head.

"Okay, okay. Our situation with the Southern Districts' inhabitants isn't that bad..." Revis said off-handedly. "It's... past worse, actually." He continued cheerfully. Oswald ignored him.

"Lacie had always been hard to find. The place only serves to make it much harder."

"You aren't cute at all." He said with a noticeable pout. He really, really hated Revis's childishness. "We won't find her if we don't start, though."

"We might as well. Lead the way, Glen-sama."

"How many searchers this time?"

"Your call."

"Really?" Revis asked in a giddy tone.

"...I believe I've answered incorrectly. Twelve at most." Oswald sighed at his antics. If he had actually let Revis do what he wanted, he would've probably mobilized every single available and able person in the estate. He was very 'impulsive', but there were times where he drops the stupid mask and duty comes before his childishness... unfortunately few and far in between. Oswald knew that Revis hid his true self under a façade—which was his infuriating immaturity. It was irking that he had his guard up even in the company of friends. The real Revis was cynical, lazy, cunning, narcissistic and 'a true bastard' as Fang had so aptly described.

"As you wish~!"

"Sometimes I really wonder who's older than who..."

"Living your life like a child is fulfilling! You should try it too! You're much too mannerly for such a young age!" Revis said merrily. Oswald nearly tittered. His act was so infuriatingly convincing that he wanted to hurl.

"...I'd rather not grace that with an answer." Oswald said flatly.

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They had left an hour and a half after that conversation and it was quite an amusing sight to see Revis-sama so panicked— it was undoubtedly feigned since he could catch amused grins sent towards the baffled servants seeing their Family Head act in such an inelegant manner (but even if it was an act, Oswald found it very hilarious). It was probably because Revis-sama knew how much of a political nightmare this would inspire if let free for a long enough period of time so he would cause a ruckus so _probably_ the attention was put to him instead of the missing Lacie (You can never be sure with him). Abyss only knows how much trouble Lacie brings to the current head whether she knows it or not. It was quite relieving to see that he wasn't the only one inconvenienced by this.

They went to the center of the whole Sabrie, and as per usual, it was bustling with activity. The morning was easy to appreciate, the temperatures had already started to rise but the snow was still bound to fall since it hasn't reached the point where it was to start defrosting. There was a toasty smell in the air that was probably something from a bakeshop they passed by while ago. The lighting was still somewhat dim, the sun having only risen mere minutes ago. The sky was clear, only with several layers of wispy clouds that covered most of the visible sky from his vantage point of view but cotton-like clouds sashayed through the sky, promising wild winds later in the day. The rays of the sun were dancing playfully upon the stone crusted buildings and dusty pavement, illuminating the surroundings softly and making the sight sweet to the eyes. The scenery was beautiful.

The only problem was that people stared— it couldn't be helped since Revis-sama refused to discard their flashy red overcoats— and when he sent them an appraising glance, they looked away. He felt the awe that washed over them, the admiring stares of the people made him want to shrink. There was nothing remarkable about being a noble. This filthy world of nobles wasn't anything to be envied. From afar it may seem like the nobles had all the benefits, prestige and wealth; but living in this pretentious world was like treading on eggshells, drowning in greed and in sleeping under the blankets of deceit. Fear always wasn't that far behind awe. And fear—if uncorrected and undisproved—leads to hate. Hatred was being tossed around unsparingly and he _hated _it. Revis had always said that his eyes could pierce through people's souls. That was hardly correct. If his eyes could pierce souls, then why couldn't he read Lacie? That would be an ability that would be most convenient.

"So how are we going to go with this?" One of the cloaked servants asked, pulling him out of his musings.

"We're going to look for Lacie, what else?" Revis asked surreptitiously, his eyes twinkling so slightly.

"I mean we are going to the Southern District. It's... hard enough to patrol it with fixed routes..."

"I know!" Revis said ardently. The searcher blinked. "We're going to be looking for a girl— a _single_ girl— in _that_ part of Sabrie?" The searcher said incredulously.

"Yes."

"Even _you_, Oswald-sama?"

"My _sister_ is the one missing." He stated sharply, making the searcher flinch.

"Ah-ah. No need to get all snappy, Little Oswald." Revis said amusedly, idly noting that the searcher had relaxed slightly.

Oswald sent him a withering glare. "I'm pretty sure you're enjoying yourself, but I'd rather not deal with this idiocy right now."

"It took us half a week to find Lacie in the East. How do you think we'd be able to find him in the South?" The searcher said incredulously, preferring to forget the recent altercation.

"You've been saying South this, South that ever since we've started walking to the Central Plaza. What's wrong with that place?" Revis asked showing the slightest of curiosity. The hesitance was somehow apparent but not answering a question asked by the Head was tantamount to _suicide_, and it seemed that the searcher realized it as well and decided that whatever that was wasn't as bad as death by the hands of their sadistic master.

"...Our unit lost all our held cash the last time we patrolled there… and we only noticed _after_ we got smashed and nearly got kicked out and banned from the pub if not for Panne's bills in his shoes."

"You got _mugged_?" Another searcher laughed.

"It's _not_ funny!" The first said indignantly.

"I have to admit, having _rigorously_ _trained _Baskerville guards robbed_ blind_ by a Southerner _is_ quite funny."

"Revis-sama!"

"Though I don't doubt our men's ability, I think we need to up the ante of our training." The searchers paled at the head's statement. The training regimen would _kill_ them! They didn't want to die that early! "Though you seem to disagree…"

"Don't let your guard down."

"You make it seem like they stand a chance, Oswald-sama."

"You're never too sure." He said flatly. His eyes swept over the Plaza and found nothing quite unusual.

They stopped by the town square to confirm where they were going to meet up after their search. They split up and started searching; and much to their chagrin, they got lost within minutes of going through the division of the town square and the Southern District.

The Baskerville patrols were right when they said anyone could get lost when they weren't natives. There were streets in between buildings and stairs were prominent features winding and forking in the most inconvenient times. In some circumstance, the only way through a particularly disorderly rubble was a catwalk and several ropes that were knotted in a way that it would serve as a bridge. Houses were stacked up upon each other, creating paths on top of buildings, sometimes even horizontal ladders that lead nowhere, several alleyways that only served to make them even more lost. The spaces on the upside of town had places for hanging laundry and some were still dripping with water that Oswald was unsure of its origins. He noted with distaste as he wiped off a droplet off his arm. The place was too bland, no newly painted anything at all. The visibility of the surroundings was like going through caves with only a matchstick as their guide. They had to walk carefully in order to not step on trash that would probably stock to their shoes for the rest of the day. Even the _sky_ was hardly visible with all the crowdedness the houses—_shacks,_ really— exhibited. A few turns along the alleys, and they were lost again. That happened for exactly nineteen — _nineteen!—_ times during the short hour they traversed the South. Oswald was good at directions and rarely got lost even if he had never been to that place before, but this was pushing it. They had come across several people who mindlessly walked and still found their way to wherever they were going. It was infuriating.

It didn't help matters that people stared at them like they were _fairies_ with particularly _glittery_ wings. Oswald sighed. Where did that come from? Maybe he was just tired. That's probably the reason. "Why don't we go back to the plaza? It's already been an hour and this is obviously useless if we're only getting lost. Why did you come with us again?"

"I'm escaping from budget signings. I— "

Revis paused mid sentence—briefly confusing Oswald— and smiled widely, pivoting with a grace that few could hope to achieve and grasping the wrist of a kid. A teen really, around his age. The thief wore an expression of shock, his jaws slack in surprise.

"Stealing is _bad _you know!" Revis chastised, frowning mock sternly. "Why, I could have lost my wallet!" He continued in mock indignation.

The kid had managed to school his features— how does he learn this?— and pretend that he wasn't actually trying to steal anything, but noticeable beads of sweat were rolling down his forehead.

"You're scarring him, Glen-sama." Oswald said flatly.

"Sorry, sorry." He laughed unrepentantly. Revis then whispered something to the ear of the boy— whom he noticed was getting paler by the second— and sent off the obviously traumatized little boy with a merry wave. The boy dashed as if his life depended on it.

"What was it this time?" Oswald asked, curious despite of himself.

"Oh nothing." Revis said cheekily. "I just introduced myself. Why do people _do_ that when they learn of my name?" He asked in feigned wonder.

Oswald just shook his head in exasperation. Who wouldn't be traumatized if you had attempted to rob one of the Four Great Dukedoms' family head?

Deciding to search for another hour, that certain scene happened more than enough times to both of them, much to his frustration. And of course, we can't forget Revis's amusement out of this whole ordeal. And there was a knowing glint in Revis' eyes that said that

They had come back to the Plaza, — with a well appreciated help from Jabberwocky, without the winged chain, they probably would still have been lost— when Revis asked him something unusual.

"Oswald? I have a suggestion."

Oswald merely raised an eyebrow.

"How about we try looking for people who could withstand your gaze? And ask them to help?"

"Why don't we just use our chains then?"

"Do you really think releasing them in broad daylight is a good idea?"

"It isn't." He sighed. "However, I haven't come across someone who can in the fifteen years of my life. Not even you when you first met me." He continued dully, staring at Revis. And huffed when said person shrugged, having long been used to his piercing eyes.

"I'm serious, Oswald. I... have a feeling you will." Revis said in cryptic way that made Oswald want to strangle him. He wouldn't do it of course, he respected the man to actually do it.

"Just here." The ravenette said in compromise, and turned to 'glare' at people.

"I don't think doing such a thing would actually _result _to something productive." His eyes had just swept each staring person slowly but he couldn't find anything interesting. Nothing notable. Then Revis tapped his shoulder with a finger and pointed to a direction. He instinctively whipped his head there. Two dauntless emerald orbs stared back.

What...? What was… He had always been very adept at reading emotions from from those soul's windows, more so than anyone else, being gifted with the ability made him... what was the word?

Who is he?

"I told you so~!" A voice from his right sang. "Really, you doubted me?"

He just grunted, somehow put off by the fact that Revis was right.

"Have you actually forgotten that I'm very very—"

"Lucky?" Oswald said dryly.

"—wise? " Revis chuckled.

"Anyway, have you forgotten our objective?" Oswald looked at him.

"Don't worry. I haven't forgotten about your antisocial tendencies."

"I don't think that's possible to forget." Oswald said dryly.

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The people in red were an organized bunch, he had to admit. They weren't like the other factions he had seen before— who were running around like headless chickens by the way. The way each man looked at a certain direction and searched for threats was good. They also had an air of regality and exuded an aura of confidence. He had to guess they were guards of sorts. Jack knew that they were important somehow, but he couldn't remember why they were so. Red cloaks...? There was the Vessalius' green, Cipherstound's yellow, Rainsworth's light purple, Nightray's dark— nearly black— blue, The Baskerville's... oh. _Oh._

He caught two amethyst orbs staring at him as if he did something wrong and nearly recoiled. He didn't know why, but he just had to _not_ draw his eyes away. He had no idea why, but it seemed appropriate. Like if he did so, something bad would happen. He was a little too far to see anything clearly, but the owner of the eyes were definitely shocked there was also something that Jack had never seen before. Why was he shocked? That was… Then the gaze was broken.

The cloaked men resumed their discussion and Jack was more than ready to remove them out of his thoughts.

But then the smaller one moved to his direction.

Oh hell. _Hell no!_

Why was that Baskerville going near him? Maybe he just happened to go somewhere near his vicinity? Did he do something bad? Something that he wouldn't realize or remember until amends were nearly impossible?

He was getting nearer! Should he run? He didn't know if he could outrun them. He hadn't run in a long while, he'd probably lose his breath in the first ten minutes. Then he realized that he was outnumbered more than ten to one, and the Baskervilles weren't really considered immortal for no reason... He sighed defeatedly, letting the event take its course of action. And waited for it like a rope was around his neck, only waiting for the stool under him to be kicked while he was sent to his death.

"Hello, little kid! Why such a glum face?"

"Gah!" He exclaimed—albeit a bit of a late reaction. His head whipped backwards, seeing the white haired man smiling at him lightly, but that face was someone of who was scheming. And scheming was never good when Baskervilles were involved. Or at least that was what he had heard.

He looked back to crowd, where the man was where before. How did he move that fast?

"No need to be so nervous, kid."

Jack stepped backward and continued looking at him warily, taking in their positions. In front of him was the white haired man; behind him were his 'lackeys' and the other one around his age.

"We aren't going to hurt you or anything." The man said blithely. "We're just going to—"

"Stop it, Glen-sama. You're intimidating him." the smaller figure— just a little taller than him— said, moving a step _nearer_. Intimidating him? Of course they were! Were they blind?! Or did they have a different definition of the word?

"Ah-ah. Sorry, sorry." He said unrepentantly and somehow, at the corner of his mind, Jack had the feeling that this wasn't the first time this happened. "I'm Glen. He's Oswald. As you can see, we're from the Baskerville house." 'Glen' said cheerfully. "Yours?"

Jack blinked uneasily. His… name? The white haired man— Glen— looked at him expectantly. The way that their conversation started was… odd. He should've refused, but he was curious as to why he was approached. The best course of action was to talk.

"J-Jack." He replied hesitantly.

"Jack? What a plain name!"

Revis entwined his fingers in front of him in mischief.

"Ne, little Jack." Revis asked, that kind of face had never resulted to anything not humiliating for Jack. He saw Oswald rolling his eyes."Where are you from?"

"Why are you asking me… that?" He asked a little off balanced. Glen was an important name too. How come he couldn't remember?

"Wrong approach, Glen-sama." Oswald commented.

...sama? Was he that significant?

"Oh. Right. We're looking for someone and we heard that she's hiding out in the Southern District. We don't know the way around, so..."

"Why ask me for help? You could have asked someone else." He asked, disregarding the fact that he could die if he even treaded a bit on the offensive language.

"That's true, but none of them are willing to help out Baskervilles, given our reputation in this part of town."

"I... can." He decided unsurely. "I live somewhere in that District."

"We're looking for someone who wants to hide, and I don't know this area like you natives apparently do."

Jack frowned. "With your red coats? Are you asking to be robbed?" He asked incredulously. Oswald sent Revis an 'I-told-you-so' look.

"Can we ask for information?" Jack nodded.

"This district is not very orderly as you might have already gathered. We work upon the system that… anyone can interfere with anything from bullies to thieves to murderers and no one even bats an eye. There are kids whose hobbies are to mislead and make people lose their way, causing great… distress to the districts' visitors. Especially nobles."

"Hobbies?" Oswald asked with wide eyes, noting with slight apprehension, if Jack read it correctly. Felice had been teaching him how to do so as of late.

"Yes. Stealing and making people lose their way." He mumbled the last past under his breath. "It's a miracle none of you have lost so completely like others."

The Baskervilles still heard it. Jack heard something from Oswald about not trusting him but Glen gave him a warning stare.

"What does he look like?"

They hesitated, but Glen replied musingly. "A 'she' actually. Her name is Lacie, long black hair and red eyes. she's around an inch or two smaller than Oswald."

"I'll help. Though if you don't want any incidents, I highly suggest you put on brown overcoats instead. However, if you're that confident in your ability to ward off the thieves, you may choose not to. Of course, it wouldn't be my problem anymore."

"A little too late, though. We've already been through several attempted thieveries." Glen said, his eyes lighted with mischief.

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"Owner-san!" Jack called as he disappeared into a dimly lit pub. Oswald took the chance to talk to Revis.

"Are you sure we can trust him?"

"Nope!" He chirped. "Definitely not."

"They why..."

"Well, he seems willing to help. We could always kill him if he were to become too much trouble."

"Kill him?" Oswald asked, surprised.

"Nah, of course not. I don't think one of our minions would be happy about it."

"Minion? Which one?"

"A rich one."

The 'rich minions' meant— as Revis had so eloquently put it— were the nobles that belonged to an association that managed the whole Country with the Dukes just below the king (who in turn says what the four dukes or duchesses' major decisions should be. Oswald had never met the King, so he could only speculate.) Sabrie was divided in four parts, each with respect to the four directions, each with a reigning family except The South. The largest was the Northern District, spanning almost a third of the whole city where the nobles of the area lived in. The East and the West span two ninths and one ninths respectively, being the trading areas. The Southern District slums which is the ones left has a third as well.

"If he is a child of one of your 'minions', then I doubt the validity of that statement." He looked to where Jack was talking to a gruff looking man. "We found him in the streets and I don't think that he would claim his title seeing as he hasn't already and looks like he's already fifteen if not older. Most nobles with illegitimate children would rather dispose of them."

"Which family do you think he belongs to?" Revis asked him casually.

"I don't know." Oswald said obtusely.

"Aww... Don't be a wet blanket. Not even a guess?"

"You already know, don't you?" He said dismissively.

"Of course! Not for sure though, since his father's other children bear none of his characteristics."

"...none?" Oswald said, trying to hide his curiosity.

"Yes." Revis chirped "It seems that the woman he officially married has a much dominant— however unfavorable— set of genes. The eldest is a beautiful and sociable but dull-witted lady. The second is intelligent but socially awkward. And he doesn't seem keen on having more heirs."

"...there is only one family with that much... unfortunately bred heirs— Fang had told me that once or twice."

"You've been spending way too much time with Fang recently, are you sure you still aren't corrupted by his always by the rules attitude?" Revis commented lightly.

"What's wrong with that?" Oswald gritted out and breathed slowly to calm himself. "The Vessalius?"

Revis nodded.

"How did you notice?" Oswald said quietly, his eyes turning critical of the blonde's features.

"Ah-ah, it's very easy! Just look at him, he looks remarkably like his father— I have met him once or twice." Revis smiled briefly as he pointedly glanced at the Vessalius. "I don't like him very much." He added distastefully.

"At social meetings? Gatherings?"

"If you could call it that, then yes. He isn't very remarkable, but I have to admit, that man... is too occupied with his duties. To the point of neglect actually."

At this point, Revis had stopped had stopped talking and eyed the friendly talk Jack was having with the pub owner. The conversation lasted a whole of two minutes and Jack had come back, his expression flat.

"It seems she age here a while ago. Around five or six in the morning." He intoned. "It's around eleven or ten o'clock right now. Five hours is a lot of time to hide."

Oswald raised an eyebrow.

"Of course we know that."

"Any ideas as to where she would hide?"

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The day was interesting for a lack of a better adjective. The search started out simple, with Jack leading them around the district. The streets had surprisingly been actually visible— the other ways were actually just pranks from the kids around— who he actually didn't notice until Jack had called them.

_"I know you've been following us. Come out."_

Jack had sighed with apparent annoyance then barked out a request—or command if you looked at it that way. The kids had appeared—there were dozens!— and they had lined up neatly in front of Jack, each of them shifting guiltily. Oswald saw Revis smile in respect to the blonde's authoritative voice. They had moved farther away, but Oswald could still hear them. Revis hadn't seemed at all surprised and it looked like he actually looked like he _knew _that they were being tailed and mislead. It annoyed Oswald greatly.

"How many, Hansel?" Jack asked flatly, his stare boring holes into the children's skulls. His gaze was focused specifically on the tallest, a typical hazel eyed, brown haired kid, around eleven our twelve years old.

"T-two..."

"The truth, Hansel."

"T-twenty..."

Jack just stared at him and decided otherwise. He then approached a freckled little girl—the smallest of the lot and kneeled to be at the same eye level as her and asked, smiling softly.

"Mabel? How many?"

"Mabel! Don't—"

"Seventy-six this week!" She said proudly. Oswald noted that Mabel didn't even know they were being scolded.

"Mabel!" Hansel sent her a betrayed look but was cut off by a glare.

"Seventy six? Seventy-six travelers that got lost in this district…This is the reason why this place has such a notorious reputation… " Jack sighed as he dusted his knees and stood up. The kids were the reason people got lost? And no one even suspected anything? "You don't have to lie. June hates liars doesn't she?" He said as he looked at Hansel. June? He'd heard that name somewhere before. Maybe he'd ask Revis later.

Hansel turned beet red, gaining snickers from his fellow children.

"I don't approve of you misleading travelers. Especially when I'm escorting them around. Why do you have Aron as your role model anyway? June loathes him."

"Lady June doesn't have anything to do with it!" Hansel screamed.

"Of course she doesn't." Jack said off-handedly, reminiscent of the way Revis ignored and dismissed Oswald oh so frequently. "Just because you have a crush on her—"

"I do NOT have a crush on Lady June!"

"—doesn't mean you should try to get her to scold you. You are a masochist, aren't you, you little brat?" Jack chaffed lightly, ruffling the kid's already tousled brown hair to an even messier nest.

Hansel turned even redder, but several hands on his shoulders held him back. Placations—many, many placations that Oswald was too far to hear— from his companions were all it took before he finally calmed down. "Fine! We'll leave you alone!" He grudgingly relented, glaring daggers at Jack the whole time. "But I won't forget this, you asshole!"

"Is that what you call someone you begged to be your leader before?" He asked with an amused smile.

"I thought we'd never talk about that ever again!?"

"I never agreed to it." He added wittily, his smile widening.

The children the dissipated, and Oswald lost sight of them after that.

"Does that happen often?" Revis asked as he dropped from his perch, his (now brown) coat billowing in the air, making flapping sounds akin to a bird about to take flight. It was Revis in every way. Oswald quietly snorted. Such flamboyance was what you would expect of him, of course anything less would be unforgivable— Revis's words, not Oswald's.

"Thankfully not." Jack said morosely. "If it did, I'm afraid I'll have lost my sanity before I even finish my teenage years." Revis snickered. He liked this kid!

The search became exponentially easier then—though they would probably still get lost without Jack. They asked around—it was mostly Jack who asked since a lot of people were still wary of them, but followed more than enough dead ends and false leads, the searchers had refused to split up, fearing that they might get lost, earning a grumble from Jack. "I'm not a babysitter."

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They had met again the day after that. Only this time, Glen wasn't with Oswald. He didn't think that they would actually come back, but it seemed the person they were looking for was important to said teen. Jack had debated whether or not to actually show up, but he had somewhat enjoyed the rambunctious company that the Baskervilles provided and decided that he would. The searchers had been reduced to a mere four— not including Oswald. Not that he was complaining.

The search was surprisingly peaceful, and with thanks to the absence of Glen, everyone was quieter and less likelier to draw attention.

There was another thing that his attention had been drawing, however. He'd already made up his mind that he would somehow rise up society, but he hardly had any idea on where to start and what to actually do after that. Was he just going to go to the Vesalius estate and beg for them to take them in? Or would he have to go through a fair number of paperwork to do so? He really hoped not. His reading had improved exponentially, but he still read excruciatingly slowly (he could only read the newspaper within two whole hours) Would he have to be granted an audience? June hadn't visited after the funeral and he had no one to ask. Felice and Aron were no help in that matter. And Dia still hadn't visited.

"Oswald?" Jack asked quietly as they exited another pub.

"Hm?" Oswald replied absently.

"Do... you know how—" He paused, considering telling something that was very personal and shook his head, deciding against it." N-Nevermind."

Oswald raised a questioning eyebrow but didn't pry. Why would he take interest in it? But it was the first time that Jack actually addressed him directly and he had to admit he was more than just a little curious. Politesse that was forced into him said otherwise. Then he felt it. There something familiar that made the atmosphere heavier. There was resonance with the abyss... Lacie was using her chain! The searchers jumped up, and hurriedly ran eastward. They had sensed it as well.

"What happened?" Jack asked confusedly.

"We've found her. Are you coming with us?" Oswald asked in an uncharacteristic rush.

"You have?" Jack blinked. "Then what are you waiting for?" Silently saying 'no' and urging him to leave already.

"Thank you for your help."

Oswald nodded gratefully and ran towards the edge of the district, entering a grandly decorated carriage. Jack snorted quietly. Really wasteful.

He stayed for a while looking at where they had just been and nodded to himself. They had add been awfully chatty during their brief cooperation and he knew plenty of the Baskervilles daily happenings. They weren't very professional when Glen wasn't around. He would most definitely miss the loudness soon, but he was contented with the silence now. At least he didn't have to babysit anyone more than twice his age anymore.

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._._._._._._.

_This took longer than I expected it to be, actually. Haha. Anyway, here's the next chapter. _

_Leave a review? They inspire me to write more. :))_


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